I watched you throw peebles at the snippet of my glass window, and you broke it with persistence and white intentions, leaving me the excerpt of your words like,
 

"I want to take you to a dance, against all odds!"
"Please be my muse."
 

I almost fell for your sweet designs and unspoken details of romance in your school jeans.
 

I almost died of the nonscientific energy coming from your sweaty fingers when you fetched me from my parents' house, asking permission from the doormat.
 

I almost fell for your untasted cotton candy dropping off our garden's ground.
 

But those bouquets of yellow roses that fit my sparkling sun dress, a gift from my mother's ancestral prom that shine like the reflections of diamonds—
 

I saw it in a young lady in black whom you only met thirteen minutes ago.





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